Demise
by Xeen Cyr
Summary: Missing scene/epilogue to "In Which We Meet Mr Jones" s1E07


**D****emise  
**

_No inFRINGEment intended. I'm just playing with the characters and I promise I will put them back in their box as soon as I'm finished. The Rocky Horror Picture Show doesn't belong to me either!_

This is a missing scene/epilogue to_ In Which We Meet Mr Jones (s1E07) _

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

She was not good with hospitals and spending so much time around wounded colleagues or patients --or dead people, but John's demise seemingly set in motion events that made her life revolving around that specific design lately. What ever happened to cushy by the book investigations for the Department of Homeland Security? She was having trouble to pull herself together, each case after the other sending the world as she knew it spinning aloof.

She gave a last glance at Loeb and decided to follow Broyles example and leave. Even if the last forty eight hours had taken their toll on her, she was not sure about getting some rest just yet. She wanted to see Peter first. With Astrid gone, there was not much she could get from Walter when she had finally made it back to the lab. He was running tests on the parasite tissues and was not in the mood of giving information on his latest successful experiment, or on anything for that matter.

In retrospect, she could not help being worried that he did not procrastinate one second about frying his son's brain in order to retrieve intel. Anyway, it never meant retrieving information for Dr. Bishop. Everything was about proving wrong the impossibilities and facing the next weirdest challenge. From where she was standing, she understood that Phillip Broyles was not too keen either on Walter's methods and ethics, but he was all they had to keep going and ultimately do their job. His presence was essential to the program. It was not her place to be critical or to challenge her superior's judgement. Still, what if Peter had been injured badly or permanently impaired?

She checked her watch and pondered that Peter was probably back to his hotel by now. For this one time, she won't have to wake him up to talk, and that was a good thing, though it was fun to see him all grumpy and ruffled, half awake in his underwear tucking on his sheet. He was only short of a teddy bear, she thought.

Then she saw him dawdling her way. For a moment, she thought he was going to take her hand and hug her and she felt compelled to reach out to him.

"Hey…" he trailed, "how you feeling?"

He stopped only inches from her and her arms fell limply to her side.

"I should be asking you that. Good job," she said briskly.

"Thank you. You too," he nodded appreciatively with a genuine smile.

She noticed that the marks of beatings on his face were completely gone. He looked worn-out.

"You hungry?" It only seemed natural to ask even if she never expected him to say yes, not in a million years.

"After everything I saw today, no, not at all," he hinted with a scoff, "but I am thirsty, really, really thirsty."

That was a great idea. To Frankfurt and back and to get smashed, she thought. Two colleagues after a day at work, talking shop over a drink. They may as well skip the shop part, she winced.

"Me too."

He was watching something above her shoulder and appeared mesmerized.

"Look at that."

She turned to Loeb's room and smiled at the couple reunion.

"Yeah, look at that."

Puzzled, she glanced quickly back in his direction. That was not the first time since her trip to Germany that she had witnessed Peter's emotional attitude. It was an all new parameter. After asking her twice if she was alright and apparently losing it with Broyles, he was marvelling at the sight of Mitchell and his wife. It was not like him to care. He usually displayed more distance and derision. The gospel according to Peter was to react to just about everything with a smirk on the face and a derogatory posture. She should ask him someday what really happened while she was away, apart from the experiment that had led them to Little Hill.

On the other hand, she was aware that her heart had flipped to a different realm of feelings. To be honest, she was considering Peter as a friend already, and as far as she could tell, he would probably turn out to be first class best friend material. That was weird. She felt closer to Peter than anyone else, including Lucas, despite their long and painful history together and John, before-he-betrayed-her-and-the-Bureau John. And Peter was fun to work with and to be honest, simply fun to be with.

She sensed his stare on her and brushed past him, hurrying outside. She let him push the glass door before her and stopped in front of the building, catching her breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. She put her hand on her forehead and smoothed her hair. After countless hours spent on planes or in the underworld of German prisons, contemplating the consequences of their last experiment, she needed air. She bent over and put her hands on her knees, trying to calm down. She felt so relieved he was ok, she could not breathe properly.

"Are you ok?" he asked again, wary of her personal space.

She nodded and closed her eyes; he stayed close to her, enough to catch her, should she faint, or to embrace her, should she cry. She did neither and stood up with a bright smile on her face.

"Sorry."

"No problem," he shrugged casually, "are you feeling better?"

"Much better. So tell me. What were you doing at Mount Auburn?"

"I bet you don't… Well, let's say that Walter came up with a very unorthodox method of making people talk which involves electricity and reviving the dead."

"Reviving the dead?" she smiled.

"Shock and awe. To make a long story short, you're the one who went to Germany and I'm the son of Dr Frank N. Furter. Only he doesn't not sing or wear a corset… yet," he chuckled.

"Seriously…"

"Seriously, you don't want to know. Not tonight anyway. You'll read my first official report soon enough. And also I need a ride. I had to leave my horses and carriage at the lab."

They headed silently to her car. She was lost in her thoughts and almost missed it. Retrieving her keys from her pockets, she turned to Peter.

"Where do you want to go?"

He shrugged again.

"Tell me first, what's your poison? Let me guess… Chardonnay, of course," he said matter-of-factly.

"How do you…?" she tilted her head, a smile reaching her eyes.

"Chablis, Meursault? My personal favourite is Montrachet. It's most likely the finest white wine in the world."

It was her turn to shrug. How could he possibly know all that?

"I was thinking…" he continued, "to save us the trouble of drawing straws to get a designated driver and allow the two of us to get hammered, why not buy us the adequate alcohol supply from your local store, go to your place and order some Chinese?"

"Or a pizza?" she said.

"Or both."

"Or both," she nodded.

"And hypothetically, I'll be so totally wasted I won't be able to take a cab back to the hotel."

"And hypothetically, you should stay over."

"Yes, I should."

"Ok."

Yes, Peter was definitely fun to be with.

-o-

_So? what do you think?_


End file.
